


neuropraxia

by ribbonelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Trost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:19:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>neuropraxia; definition: temporary failure of nerve conduction in the absence of structural changes, due to blunt injury, compression or ischemia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	neuropraxia

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in the beginning of the dermatomusculoskeletal semester, right after we learned about nerve injury. i guess i became crazy lame and wanted to remember the causes of neuropraxia, so i wrote out a series of drabbles concerning said causes. mostly insights, and other things. but yeah. the one for blunt injury is probably a little less plausible, but ahahaa. sorry, literally me dicking around with medical terminology.

blunt injury

_Something’s wrong._

He could feel it, something niggling at the back of his mind. Something gone off course, something messing with the equilibrium of his existence, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out _what_ in that moment.

They had just finished their training, and Marco’s muscles were burning from the strain. It didn’t feel bad, but it didn’t feel good either, just the persistent aching that had become a part of daily. But aside from that, there was something bothering Marco. Something else entirely.

The showers were packed and they were allocated no more than 10 minutes for individual showers, so he couldn’t dwell too much on the idea. It stayed with him though, all through cleaning himself and getting dressed, a strong presence of wrongness in the air, lingering. They had dinner and soon enough it was time to bunk up and get to sleep, just another ordinary day in the life of a military trainee.

It was only when Marco had gotten ready for sleep, smearing some salve onto the blisters at the heel of his right foot did he notice what was wrong. He wasn’t really ready for it.

Marco was internally freaking out when Jean gave him a weird look from the bed beside him, definitely having caught on to how spooked Marco seemed. Jean (the guy whose bed was beside his, his best friend, his inspiration, sometimes) tossed the book he was reading to the side, scooting over so he sat at the edge of his bed, “You okay, man?”

Part of Marco wanted to say yeah, he’s fine, Marco’s never been bad at lying and he has a habit of not making people worry but this is surreal, this is pretty fucking messed up so he couldn’t help himself.

“I can’t feel my toe.”

“The hell does that mean?”                                                                             

Marco breathed out harshly, curling the toes of his right foot in some sort of demonstration, “I can’t feel my toe, Jean.  Can’t feel it. It’s like it isn’t there.”

The look Jean was giving him was on the border of skeptical, but the concern in Jean’s eyes was enough to make up for it. “You’re moving it fine. Get your foot here.”

Temporary hesitation, before Marco swung his leg up to Jean’s bunk, frowning insistently at his limb as if that’d help. Marco made a startled noise when Jean took hold of said foot and brought it to his lap, fingertips pressing into the sole. He followed the line of Marco’s toes, all the while watching Marco. HIs expression seemed curious. “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah.”

“What about this?”

There were a series of ‘yes’ from Marco as Jean dragged his finger over the contours of his foot, before he didn’t say anything as Jean tipped his finger to press his nail into skin. Marco made an involuntary noise as reflex, knowing that that’s gotta hurt but.

Nothing. He looked up at Jean in alarm, eyes wide, “No. Nothing. Jean, what’s—“

Jean patted at Marco’s leg, carefully, like he was handling a wild beast, “Marco, calm down. You look like you’re losing it. Breathe for a while, we’ll figure this out.”

It was freaky, to be honest, to see part of you in contact with something but the feeling didn’t register, you just couldn’t _feel._   Like what’s part of you isn’t part of you, like your brain had short-circuited and fucked up the relay of signals at one point, and you can’t feel what you’re supposed to. Like your body had betrayed you.

Marco was caught up in his internal monologue, and Jean was trying to snap him out of it. He did, eventually, by a hard smack to the sole of Marco’s foot and the boy jerked out of his reverie, blinking owlishly at Jean, “What?”

“Pay attention. You’re gonna be fine. Tell me where this not feeling shit ends, okay?”

A shaky nod, and Jean dragged his nail along Marco’s big toe, only stopping when Marco cleared his throat, pointing, “There. That’s where I can feel. Nothing above that.”

It was somewhere a little farther up Marco’s foot, in the dip between the tendons of his toe and the second one. He couldn’t feel his entire big toe. Jean wasn’t well versed in the medical field, but it’s gotta be something about nerves, and stuff.

“Did anything happen to you before? You stubbed it, maybe? Got hit by anyone?”

Marco was chewing at his bottom lip like he was aiming to tear it off, but ceased when Jean looked back at him, “ I can’t seem to…Oh. We had that training session, remember? One-on-one sparring. Got punched on the back pretty hard, I guess, but it’s just a punch?”

Jean frowned, “How come I’ve never heard of this before?”

Despite his earlier panic, Marco’s mouth curved upwards just a little, “Do you need to know?”

“Fuckin’ obviously!” he smacked Marco’s knee in his temper, “At least we could plan payback, punch back the fucker who punched you.”

He burst in laughter then, shaking his head, “ _Jean,_ you’re kidding, right?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Mina was the one who punched me. We were partnered up and she apologized like she just killed a kitten. It’s okay, it happens.”

Jean grumbled to himself for a while before shifting on his bed, gently placing the foot down on the floor, “Turn around and strip. Let me see your back.”

Blood rushed in a beeline to his face and Marco cleared his throat in an attempt to stop the eventual blush, but of course it was in vain. The word ‘strip’ coming from Jean’s mouth wasn’t something he could really take casually, “What for?”

“To see if Mina fuckin’ punctured something, dork, so hurry up and do it.”

Marco’s mouth twisted in doubt, but a stern look from Jean and he obliged, sighing as he grabbed at his collar and tugged his shirt off.  He wasn’t overly conscious with his body, nor was he shy when it came to baring skin; they were soldiers; but personally taking his clothes off for Jean? Something about that made Marco’s blood heat up, which was stupid, but still.

He twisted his body on the bed so Jean could take a look at his back, and was rightfully startled when Jean made a noise of distress, “What? Is it bad?”

A touch, feather soft, skimmed alongside the groove of his spine and Marco stiffened.

“Jesus. I’m betting it’s going to turn black and blue by Thursday, man. Mina did a number on you.”

It did throb, quite a lot, but Marco was used to aching all over so a little extra pain didn’t bother him much, as it didn’t bother any of his colleagues. The upcoming bruise probably was the cause of his sensation loss, and he probably should have a medical expert check on it, and feel some relief for finding out what was wrong with him.

But Marco was mostly numb, again.

He didn’t realize how gentle Jean could be when touching someone else, much less when touching himself. He never noticed how tender his friend could be.

Marco snapped out of it soon enough, turning around to smile warmly at his best friend (best pal, inspiration, a person close to his heart), “I’ll take on that bet. Thanks, though. I’ve stopped freaking out, I think.”

Jean flashed him a grin and his heart skipped a couple of beats, and the numbness in him spread, his plight momentarily forgotten.

Since when had he fallen in love with Jean?

//

compression

The things one could do with just suppressing their emotions are incredible.

It was amazing how numb he felt, how utterly unfeeling, like he truly did not give a fuck.

Some nights he’d wake up gasping for air, shaking all over from dreams about dying and being torn in half by the monsters outside the wall, and the fear he felt would be crippling, piercing cold in his gut but he knew that was normal for soldiers in their situation, there was nothing wrong with him. It was physiology. The only thing that mattered was how they handled the fear, and Marco suppressed it.

Put a mental weight over it, let the heaviness flatten it and tuck it away into the recesses of his mind that didn’t matter as much as his daily routine as a future soldier.

Some nights he would lay awake thinking of his future, about the way his parents nodded in understanding when he told them of his decision to serve the king in the military, the way his siblings clung to him before he left like they’d never be able to see him again.

There was a chance of that happening, but Marco never dwelled on that.

It was _so_ easy to lose control, so easy to let the fear overwhelm him to the brink of insanity but Marco knew that would be such a waste of his life. There were people who made him a constant here, an unchangeable entity. He’d always be Marco, that nice guy with freckles, one of the two 104th squad angels, that boy who smiles always. He’d stay that, for his sake and theirs, but he sometimes thinks about losing control.

He would never do that, but he _could_.

Marco was all about supressing emotions before they could get overwhelming, and he’d been doing it for most of his life. He supressed himself from throwing a tantrum when his little brother accidentally broke a piece of seashell his grandfather found during his mining days; a precious gift. He suppressed the hysterical urge to pack his bags and go home, leave the military. He supressed the emotions that surfaced whenever he turned to the side and saw Jean’s sleeping face in the bed next to his, uncharacteristically peaceful. He supressed the desire to just give up.

Compression was Marco’s thing, and it made him feel numb some days. But numbness was better than being flooded by unnecessary feelings that would indubitably complicate things.

But sometimes…he just wanted to stop pushing it all down and just…take. He wanted to take everything, from freedom to security, to dreamless sleep and Jean. Just take everything till he could take no more and let himself drown in emotion.

But he was Marco, and compression was Marco’s thing.

It wasn’t so bad being numb.

//

ischemia

He was trying his best to not freak out, his absolute hardest to keep calm because this must be a trick. This must be some messed up introduction to a wet dream he has sometimes, because there was no logical explanation that he could come up with to actually make sense of his current situation.

He had hugged Jean, and Jean had hugged back. That was normal, that was nothing unusual.

But Jean had tilted his head up and Marco could feel lips over the skin of his neck, a warm sort of damp just inches away from his jaw and it didn’t really register till he felt the hot burst of breath Jean let out.

He paled. Marco could hear the blood leaving his face in a rush, and there was no mistaking the sudden light-headedness he experienced. People blushed, but not Marco. He wasn’t flustered.

He was terrified.

Did Jean somehow found out about his juvenile crush, about the way he would think of Jean sometimes when he was feeling exceptionally lonely? Did Jean finally notice the affection in his gaze and his laughter that was too mellow for it to be simply platonic? Where did he mess up?

Jean still had his lips against Marco’s neck but all the boy could think of was that he didn’t mean for this to happen. He had meant to kept it a secret and graduate with Jean and enter the Military Police with him and remain safe and useful and maybe then, maybe then…

Because if it were to happen now, he would fall even deeper into this bottomless chasm that was his feelings for Jean, and at this point of time there was no telling what could happen. He could lose Jean. They could split on devastating means. They could never want to speak to each other again. The monsters that sometimes haunt his dreams could come to life and take Jean away.

Marco was as pale as a ghost.

There was a hand resting over his side, fingers lightly settling in between the outlines of his ribs through the trainee uniform, and Marco wanted nothing more than for them to stay there forever.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” The question was so quiet, and Marco could have pretended that he never heard it save for the whispered words against his neck. Jean didn’t seem like he was looking for an answer, “It feels good to do this. I think you’re too good to me.  Marco…”

The seed of fear in Marco’s chest cavity took root and dug deeper into his being, blooming, blooming.

Jean looked up and all Marco could see was the face of someone he couldn’t bear to lose, the face of someone he would die for without a doubt.

“Do you feel what I feel? As gay as that sounds?”

Which was funny, Jean’s attempt at humor and Marco laughed despite himself and he didn’t turn away from the kiss Jean pressed against his lips, swallowing his laughter.

He let go, wanting to fully experience the intensity of being in love, of being loved, but all Marco could feel was the ice cold fear in his soul, knowing that he had so much to lose now than before.

//

neurotmesis

**Author's Note:**

> neurotmesis; definition: partial or complete severance of a nerve, leads to permanent nerve damage without surgical intervention


End file.
